Sometime Around Midnight
by FallenOutTheWindow
Summary: "And it starts sometime around midnight, or at least that's when you lose yourself for a minute or two..." AU set in a bar in which everyone is drunk and no one is happy.
1. Chapter 1

For the time being this piece is being used as my final University project and so has had to be taken down for fear of plagiarism. It will be reposted in the summer so please keep your eyes open. Thank you…

~FallenOutTheWindow


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I will admit, I am a terrible person. Especially when it comes to time keeping. I know I said I would repost this a few months later but I wasn't happy with it and so revisions were made and then I graduated University and there a lot of excuses I could put here but why don't we focus on what we really came for which is shameless fic for our favourite ships? **

**Also, some of you will note that I refer to 'Daisy' as Skye a lot in this. That's because I think Skye changing her name is a stupid ass decision and have decided to ignore the show for doing that.**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine, just playing with the characters and will most likely leave them in better conditions than the writers of the actual show do. **

* * *

><p>Leopold Fitz threw back the dregs of his drink and grimaced at the taste warm beer mixing with the handful of pistachios he'd managed to eat earlier. Across the booth from him sat Skye, owner of said pistachios, sprawled across the worn leather seats of <em>The Bus<em>. He watched her as she swayed to whatever band played that week while he half listened to Hunter's weekly complaints.

"You realise that that's it for me? I'm gonna be fired, I can tell. The bloody woman hates me. She's a demon from the darkest depths of hell-" Hunter began again, cracking open a pistachio with his teeth.

"A hot demon," Skye interrupted, laughing at Hunter's open-mouthed expression.

"Not the point," he shouted as he gestured with his empty pint glass, "I'm telling you, end of the month and that it's."

"Looks like you'd best be getting the drinks in while you can," Skye laughed, extending her leg to poke at Hunter's thigh. Fitz watched and laughed as Hunter stumbled away, presumably in search of the toilets or to tell some poor soul about his ex-wife.

"It's getting' late and we have work tomorrow," Fitz started when he caught sight of the old clock above the bar, his Scottish brogue seemingly thicker as the alcohol flooded his bloodstream and his fingers trailed, absentmindedly, across the collections of engravings that marred the woodwork: old messages, jokes, drawings and the odd phone number.

"And we'll all be drunk tomorrow, you can buy coffee but tonight we're doing shots," Hunter announced, returning with shots and three fresh pints. Fitz lifted one of the shot glasses and watched Skye and Hunter do the same, waiting for his approval.

"For Queen and country, yeah?" Hunter laughed as he slid back into the booth beside Skye.

"Alright, tequila time!"

"God help us," Fitz mumbled while trying not to spill his drink as he lifted his shot.

"Look I won't try and dare us to do anything stupid this time, we need shots and this is what I paid for. If you don't want yours then I'll take it-"

"No you won't," Fitz smiled, "Mate, you're pissed as it is. Jus' do yours and I'll do mine and we'll end it, yeah?"

"Spoilsport."

Fitz scowled before he brought his drink to his mouth, forcing himself not to react to the burning in his throat. Instead, Fitz focused on the spluttering coming from Hunter and Skye's squeals and finding the most dignified way to wipe leftover alcohol off of his hand.

With his palm hallway through its second pass across his thigh he saw her. Dark hair and freckled skin, her white dress swirling as she span in the small clearing in front of the stage. The sudden stammer of his heartbeat convinced him that no more than twenty feet away stood the only person who had ever truly left him broken.

"Jemma…"

* * *

><p>"<em>You really want that?" Fitz<em> _asks, smirking as he buries his nose in his girlfriend's hair, taking in the scent of his shampoo and her body wash. _

"_Maybe, sounds nice though. Hanging out with your best friend forever," Jemma answers, twisting around on their small sofa in their shared apartment, throwing her legs over Fitz's, pulling herself closer and his hand trailed further down her back. _

"_I don't think tha's usually how someone sells the idea of marriage, love." _

"_What part of any of this is normal," hand flying around, gesturing between them before reaching backward to grab her coffee mug._

"_Come on then," Fitz_ _whispers, stealing a quick kiss as he attempted to move Jemma into his arms before giving up and pulling her along to their beaten front door _

"_Wait, where are we going?" _

"_I combed my hair, you're wearin' white and I wanna hang out with you forever," he laughed, hands wrapping around her waist, playing with the fabric of his old white shirt that _

_Jemma had taken to wearing while at home. Taking both of her hands in his, pressing his lips to her knuckles he slowly lowered himself to the floor. Ignoring the popping sound of his joints, Fitz_ _found himself on one knee, looking up and his best friend. _

"_Jemma Simmons, this carpet is disgustin' but you're incredible. You're smart an' beautiful an' you're the best friend a bloke like me could ask for so, here goes. You fancy hanging out with me for forever?" _

_Tears swimming and filling her vision Jemma dropped drown to her knees, taking Fitz's_ _face between her hands, finger tips grazing at the stubble coating his cheeks, "Those aren't the right words, you muppet." _

"_Jem, will you marry me?" Fitz_ _whispered, resting his forehead against Jemma's, holding his breath and waiting for an answer. _

"_Course I will," she smiled, barely giving him a chance to process her words before throwing her arms around his neck, whispering 'I love you's' into his mouth between kisses._

* * *

><p>"What's up, mate?" Hunter asked as he pounded his chest, his coughing subsiding.<p>

"Nothin', why?" Fitz answered, fake smile firmly in place as he looked away from the bar, ignoring the fact the woman just a few paces away. The pull to turn around and look back at her was almost all-consuming but instead of into playing her games, Fitz picked up his beer and drained half of it down in one.

"That's the spirit," Skye whooped, cheering as she lifted her own glass of something pink and full of sugar, drink sloshing over the sides and down her fingers.

"We need to toast to something," Hunter decided and flicked yet another pistachio shell toward Skye.

"Why do we need to toast to anything?" she asked as she threw the shell back across the table.

"Because we do. Because if we don't toast to something, if we don't celebrate something then why are we bothering even drinking?" Hunter explained as if the concept was obvious.

"And that's enough for you," Fitz laughed, desperately fighting the urge to turn his head, his fist clenched tight enough to leave lasting marks across his palm. The power she held over him was ridiculous, just the sight of her sent his heartbeat into overdrive and his head in spirals. It had been four years since he had last seen Jemma Simmons and to have her so close now, to be able to hear her laugh at something from across the bar was almost too much for Fitz to bear. Desperate to dislodge the memories of Jemma that threatened to consume him Fitz shook his head, screwing his eyes shut as he raised his glass. "To us. To makin' it through another day. To not givin' a shit."

"To Lance's upcoming unemployment," Skye squealed as Hunter threw more nuts at her, grimacing at the use of his forename.

"To more alcohol," Hunter shouted, grabbing Skye's glass.

As he watched the display, Fitz couldn't help but smile. To anyone else they would have looked like an unlikely bunch of friends but to him they were everything and the longer he focused on them the less pressing the urge was to watch Jemma. Especially now that she had left her space on the dance floor.

"To Fitzy's round!" Skye cheered. Swallowing a mouthful of beer, Fitz smiled at the younger woman stretched out in the booth, legs casually draped across Hunter's lap.

"To my round, eh? Well, looks like Skye is getting' the coffee tomorrow," he laughed as Hunter raised his beer in mock salute. "Righ' then, Hunter started it, I'm finishin' it. Shots," Fitz announced, earning cheers as he staggered to the bar, the alcohol hitting him almost out of nowhere.

Leaning against the bar heavily, Fitz made quick work of ordering drinks and smiled at the staff behind the bar, trying and failing to recall their names through the haze of the booze as he felt someone close behind him. Without having to turn around he knew it was her and so, breathing deeply he turned to face the woman and his vision swam at the sudden movement.

"Are you okay," the woman before him asked, sounding almost timid, something he would have never thought possible for his Simmons.

"I'm, er. I..." he stuttered, suddenly regretting the worn out jeans and shirt he wore, increasingly aware of the way his shoes stuck to the floor of the bar. He let his eyes roam her body, blamed his blatant staring on the earlier shots and noticed the tight grip she had on her drink and the way her hair fell shorter than he'd ever seen it before.

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><p>"<em>I love you," he whispers, placing another kiss to Jemma's hip, lips dragging across her skin as he moves to her stomach. Pulling at her navel piercing Fitz refused to feel ashamed for the shit-eating grin stretching across his face. He'd heard the story of Jemma and Skye getting drunk and giving each other piercings but never dared to ask what exactly had been pierced. Moving higher, feeling the press of her ribs against his mouth, Fitz moved his hand, fingers trailing up the outside of her thigh, thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and smirking as he felt rather than heard the hitch in her breath. "I love you." <em>

_Nipping, kissing, licking and sucking his way across the inside of her elbow, her breasts, her collarbone and neck, Fitz continued whispering his declarations of love into her skin until he reached her face. Eyes still closed in bliss and hair thoroughly messed, Jemma Simmons had never looked more beautiful to him. Slowly reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair from her head, he kisses her once again, taking her bottom lip between his own, biting down and soothing it; struggling not to smile as she did the same, carding her fingers through his hair and dragging her nails down his spine. _

"_I love you too," Jemma whispers, opening her eyes and smiling lazily, "In case that wasn't obvious earlier." _

"_You know what, I don't think it was. Maybe you should show me again sometime," he smirks, pulling Jemma closer to him, savouring the feeling of every inch of her skin pressing against his. _

"_I'm sure I could be persuaded somehow," she laughs, moving closer and wrapping her leg over his, tangling their limbs together as she started trailing patterns across his chest. _

"_You want me to persuade you now?"_

"_Mmm, not now. Later. Sleep now," Jemma murmurs. _

"_I'll hold you to that." _

_Brushing her hair off of her shoulder, exposing her skin to him, Fitz smiles. Trailing his fingertips up and down her back, across her shoulder and neck and following the curves of her hips, Fitz watches Jemma fall asleep against him, memorising the feel of her in his arms, the way she called out his name and a thousand other small details before allowing his eyes to drift shut, just as the sun began peeking through the windows._

* * *

><p>"Hey!" A voice shouted out from across the bar. He was tall, much taller than Fitz. "What's going on, I thought you were getting another drink."<p>

"I was, I just-"

"Doesn't matter," he cut off, pausing briefly to press his lips against hers, "Come on, I got us a booth back here," tall, dark and douche-bag announced, pulling the woman away, not even acknowledging Fitz.

Fitz gripped the railings that surrounded the bar, knuckles turning white as he fought memories of Jemma Simmons: the Simmons he knew, who wouldn't have backed down, memories of the Simmons who was his. The memories flew through his head like scenes in a movie, pouring over him and pulled him in like waves, he remembered the woman he knew and looked to the bar. Spotting the drinks that he had paid for he threw back two of the shots without thinking before Hunter made his way over. He found comfort in the bitter burn of the alcohol and welcomed it over broken knuckles and bloodied hands after the last time he thought he'd seen her. He remembered being so sure that it was her only to find out that it wasn't and the next eight weeks wearing a cast. He still sported the scars to remind him.

"Fitz? You okay?" Hunter whispered, worry evident in his eyes.

"I'll be fine," he whispered and passed the remaining shot glass to Hunter, "Though I may have drunk my round."

"No worries, you saved the beers at least. Skye, babe your turn for buying, see if you can get me some more nuts and…" Lance's voice died out, noticing that Fitz wasn't even pretending to pay attention. He tried to follow the Scot's gaze but finding nothing he thought no more of it. Instead, Hunter left the bar, pulling Fitz along behind him.

The bar began thinning out and despite his best intentions Fitz couldn't help the glances in the direction that he'd seen her headed. It wasn't long until he was rewarded with another glimpse of her, still swaying on the dance floor in between couples grinding against each other and friends who held each other up while stepping side to side. She stood out to his like a vision, her white dress floated around her knees, brushing the skin and hair shone like a halo even through the haze of the alcohol. After what felt like eons he finally managed to catch her eye and Fitz tried to convey anything and everything, tried to make her understand everything he felt since she left him: I miss you. I needed you. I loved you. I still love you.

The words cycled around and around in his head as the stranger he'd seen earlier moved to kiss her and the sight of another man touching her and holding her and it all feels like one big hit to the stomach. Fitz opened his mouth, hoping that the words would find themselves if he could shout out to her but whatever he intended to say got caught in his throat and Fitz watched as she left the bar.

The alcohol doesn't help at all. It never did. It didn't help when she left the first time, when she didn't return for days on end. Didn't help when the days turned to weeks and the weeks somehow became months. Logically, Fitz knew that the bitter sting of alcohol wouldn't help but the burn is familiar and focusing on the feel of the shot glass in his hand helps to drown out the image of Jemma and this mystery man and so he drank until the burn isn't there and what was a light buzz is now long gone.

He tightened his grasp and Hunter noticed the change in the atmosphere. Fitz is vaguely aware of the hand on his shoulder but it isn't until he hears Skye's gasp that he looks down at his fist; shards of glass spattered the table and blood dripped from his palm but he felt none of it. All he could feel was the phantom touch of Jemma's fingertips across his skin and her lips on his, the torment in his head sent his stomach into knots, ropes turning and twisting as he struggled to breathe.

"Fitz, what's going on?" Skye asked quietly, sobered at the sight of his hand.

"Yeah, come on, I haven't seen you like this since-" Hunter trailed of, realisation slowly dawning.

"It's Simmons," Fitz whispered, struggling to hold himself together.

"Fitz, don't," Skye whispered as tears threatened to form in her eyes and he remembered the state she had found him in when Jemma first left, throwing bottles at walls, not caring about the glass that bounced back and pierced his skin. He remembered spending weeks searching for her after she left, not understanding her sudden disappearance, scouring search rooms and police stations and bars for her with Skye and Hunter. Skye was there when he received the postcard from Paris and reading Jemma's messy cursive spell out the word 'sorry' and nothing else. That was the night he told Skye about their plans to go to France for their honeymoon. That was the night he first thought he saw Jemma and when he finally came to his senses and discovered that the woman he'd been chasing wasn't his finance; Skye was the one who had patched up his bloody knuckles and fist attempted to piece him back together in the waiting room of A&E.

"It her," Fitz whispered, flexing his hand and starring down and the cuts across his palm, "I'm sure of it this time. It's her, Skye."

"Damn it, Fitz," she whispered as she grabbed his hand, pulling her scarf away from her neck and wound it around his hand, "It's not her. You can't... You can't keep doing this."

"Skye, it's her, I know it, I just-I-"

"No, Fitz, not again."

"Skye."

"Shit, Skye," Hunter looked up, a hand running over his face and through his hair, "He has to at least try."

"Four years! It's been four years and we haven't seen from her or heard from her. We don't know where she went and she obviously doesn't care about-"

"But he does. Despite it all, Fitz still cares and that's enough for me." Hunter shuffled across the old red leather and stood, reached out for the smaller man and pulled him so that Fitz was standing. "I get it, mate. It was the same after Bobbi left. I loved her. I hate her but I loved her once and maybe part of me still does because even now I check her Facebook, just to see how she is and you don't get that. I at least get to know that she's still there, that she's okay and you don't. " Hunter shook his head and looked down; the tan line on his left hand appeared more prominent than ever. "You just have to see her, right?" Hunter asked and at Fitz's nod, let go of his arm.

"Hunter, you can't be serious, Fitz, please. You can't keep doing this, can't keep running after women that you think's her, you can't… You just can't. Please?"

"But, Skye it's _her_. I know it, I just, I don't care if I can't get her back, I just need to see her, need to know why she ran, I," Fitz paused and ran his uninjured hand across his face and though his hair. "I just have to see her. If it's not her then that's it, I won't do this again just don't make me lose her, I can't lose her again."

"Swear to me that this is the last time."

Fitz lifted his hand to his heart and crossed over it and barely had a chance to right himself before Skye grabbed onto his shirtsleeve and pulled him along behind her. With Hunter following close behind they raced up the steps of the basement level pub and Skye began to scream out into the night.

"Jemma! Jemma Simmons! We're looking for you, where are you?" she called out as Fitz squinted under the harsh glare of the streetlights. It didn't take long for Hunter to join in with her cries and the sight of his friends acting like fools on the sidewalk of a pub in the early hours of the morning pulled at his heart, warmth flooding in with the knowledge that these people surrounding him were willing to do almost anything for him. Fitz pulled himself from his thoughts and rushed over to a young couple smoking in a bus station. In his rush he stumbled and hit the wall of the shelter and startled the couple, "I'm looking for a woman."

"Aren't we all," the woman laughed and took another drag of her cigarette.

"A specific one, she's called Jemma an' I need to find her. She's about yea high, brown hair, was wearin' white and I need to find her so will you please jus' help me?" Fitz begged, not caring about the scene he was making, barely noticing that Hunter had come to stand behind him, swaying slightly.

"Went that way with some guy, I think. Might be able to catch them if you run," she offered before bringing her cigarette back up to her lips.

"Brilliant," Fitz beamed and took off in the direction she had pointed; stumbling slightly as he struggled to find his footing and the sound of Skye's cheers faded into the distance.

His feet thundered across the concrete but Fitz gave no second thought to the odd passer-by he saw on the streets, thoughts of her consumed him and he forced himself to go faster. He ignored the burn in his lungs as he skidded around a corner and sent out a half-hearted prayer that he was headed in the right direction as memories washed over him once again.

Meeting her. Falling in love with her. Swing sets at midnight. Long nights at _The Bus_ and even longer nights in bed. Proposing to her. Waking up to a world in which Jemma Simmons was little more than a phantom, a dream.

* * *

><p>"<em>Hello, I'm Simmons," she smiles from above him, hesitantly gesturing to the other side of the empty booth in The Bus. He'd never been before but it was new and the advertisements had promised him cheap drinks and the place seemed clean enough.<em>

"_You're gorgeous," Fitz mumbles, alcohol removing any filter in his mind as he spoke. _

"_Most people respond with their name but I like how forward you are," she laughs, sliding across the shiny, red leather seats and into the booths. "You alone?" _

"_Not anymore it seems," he shuffles across the seats to join her at the back of the booth. _

"_Fitz, by the way." Slowly he takes her hand and shakes after offering his name, he can't help his intrigue at the woman before him and her oddly forward and yet incredibly polite manner. _

"_Interesting name, not sure if your birth certificate would say the same." _

"_Last name but I'd rather shoot myself in the left foot than have you callin' me Leopold," he joked, not letting go of her hand, thanking any deities listening that she hadn't pulled away either. _

"_I like you, _Leopold_," Simmons laughed, fingers stretching out to interlace with his unabashedly._

"_Well then, tha's a start," Fitz smiles._

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: Thoughts? Comments? Requests? Let me know! **

** (Also, Happy New Year!)**


End file.
